My ode to journalism school

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It’s a weird feeling to be giddy about nearing the journalism school finish line on the same week as Postmedia axes 54 employees at its Vancouver Sun/Province newsroom. After the strange last day goodbyes to the people and the student newsroom I’ve spent more hours at than my own home in the past eight months, and forward into a future full of unknowns, I wrote a little something about it all…

After the strange last day goodbyes to the people and the student newsroom I’ve spent more hours at than my own home in the past year, and forward into a future full of unknowns, I wrote a little something about it all…

Here is my ode to journalism school.

The newsroom is empty, the click click of the timestamp machine can no longer be heard and it doesn’t matter anymore that the stapler doesn’t work.

J-school is officially over, what a wild ride. I’m sure we all passed.

I’ll still have to check my CP Style every damn time I need to write out an address. Still can’t do math. Still write but ledes.

But at least now I know how to spray and pray, how to bang out a story in two hours and how to approach anyone, armed with recorder and slightly manic facial expression.

I’ve come to love the gallows humor and looks of horror on my colleagues’ faces as we hurtle towards deadline.

Slowly, sneakily and without really knowing it, I’ve become allergic to listening to bullshit. My skin crawls when I hear political platitudes. I refuse to market products with my writing.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, I became a journalist.

For my colleagues, the bright-eyed new journos, and for those newsroom vets we so admire…

It’s a tough world out there, the captains of industry are not kind to our profession.

But I hope you fight as long as you can, because damn it, journalism is worth it. And it needs you.